A Red River of Screams
by octobrepoussiere
Summary: It's spring of 1999. Tommy Joe Ratliff is the new student who deals with a tragic past and struggles at home. Will the loved thespian, Adam Lambert, help him out of his darkness? ADOMMY/ATOM/LAMBLIFF. RATED M FOR GRAPHIC CONTENT. INCLUDES SELF HARM, MENTAL ILLNESS, COLORFUL LANGUAGE, AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE HERE BUT ENJOY.
1. ThoughtfulAndCreativeTitleName

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5…._

I began counting in my head, waiting my part to come in our last song for the last time we would perform our Spring Musical, '_Hairspray_.'

_22, 23, 24, 25, 26…._

By now the leading lady in the musical had started singing her part, pushing away 'Amber'.

_42, 43, 44, 45, 46—_

"_Ever since this whole world began, a woman found out if she shook it, she could shake up a man. So I'm gonna shake and shimmy it the best that I can today_" My own voice echoed quietly, but loud enough for the crowd to hear under my partner, 'Tracy's', voice. "'_Cause you can't stop the motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky! You can wonder if you wanna, but I never ask why, and if you try to hold me down I'm gonna spit in your eye and say,_" in the mix of the swift movements we made during the song, my arms were around the younger dark-haired female. "_You can't stop the beat!_" I looked down into her bright green eyes, seeing the reflection in them of my blue, and dived down for the kiss.

Hand and hand, we all bowed in front of the school. As the auditorium filled with applauds and yells, I scanned my eyes around the lot. Freshmen were in the front left, sophomores in the back left, juniors in the back right, and seniors in the front right. My eyes stopped as I found a smaller looking boy in the Juniors. From afar, all I could see was a brunette flawless pale skin wearing black skinny jeans that hugged his legs tightly and a grey Marilyn Manson shirt. He was being brought in by one of the counselors, only to be left hugging himself in one of the seats in somewhat of an awkward embrace.

"Adam! Come on!" The leading lady, Stephanie, tugged my arm. Shit.

I blinked once, out of my daze. "Shit, sorry!" I whispered to her, giving the crowd one last smile and wave before being pulled off the stage.

"So are you coming to the dance tonight?" Stephanie pulled me into the dressing room before we could be pumbled with compliments and hugs. She sat me on one of the seats that faced the mirror and began to comb my recently-dyed black hair. Naturally, I was a redhead, as much as I hate to admit it. I was _loving_ the black though- I wasn't much into anything extremely dark, but I loved black. The only reason I got permission to dye it in the first place was for my role of Link Larkin.

I felt a quiet moan escape my mouth, feeling the bristles on my scalp. "Of course. Are you going with anyone?" I felt the stroking stop. _Did someone not ask her, or..? _I looked up at her expression of her reflection on the mirror. _No, no one asked her. _"Will you go with me?"

The brunette's frown quickly evaded as she pulled me in for a hug from the back. "Thank you so much, Adam!" She quickly kissed my cheek and let me go, going back to combing out all of the hairspray I had to use. "Why, did no one ask you?"

I looked at her blankly, letting my mind drift from the subject. "By a girl I didn't know" I eyed her dress through the mirror, keeping my gaze away from her eye. I knew what questions were coming, and I hated having to lie so much… You see, I haven't yet exactly 'come out of the closet'. All I could do was sit and wait for the questioning to start.

"Oh." She ran a hand through my hair after the combed the black mess out. "Why not?" _Shit_.

She walked across the room and came back a few seconds later, handing me something I assumed was a make-up removing cloth and awaited my answer. I got up from the chair without thinking and shook my head once. "Not my type" was all I could think of right on the spot. I heard her say my name quietly as I walked towards the door.

"Adam, stop. Is it so damn hard to say?" _Is _what_ so damn hard to say? _I turned around to face the girl, trying to find the answer in her green eyes. She knew. She knew why. I felt my knees go weak.

I leaned my back on the door, facing her now. I let myself sink down onto the floor, my eyes following."How long have you known?" I looked back up, giving her a defeated look. She knew. If she knew, who else knew? I hadn't told _anyone_. I thought I was hiding it pretty well… People suspected things, and hell, I was called names all the time- but I had never once actually told anyone.

She walked over to my side and grasped my arm. "Adam, it's nothing to be ashamed about…" She tugged on my arm in attempt to make me stand, but failed. I stayed in place, keeping my eyes on the ground. _'Nothing to be ashamed of' my ass. _I'm a faggot. I'm just another gayass faggot. "Adam.." She whined again, sitting down beside me when she knew I wouldn't move. I felt a hand on my chin, forcing me to look up. I met eyes with hers, feeling my lip quiver once. "Adam, talk to me."

"I don't wanna talk" I kept my eyes on her, letting her know that that was the full truth. I didn't want to talk. I wanted to go home, take a long bath, then go to bed and start the weekend on repeat.

"If you ever need to talk," She stood up and held out her hand for me to grab. "I'm here."

I took her hand and she pulled me up, standing me on my feet. Though I'm a guy, this girl was extremely strong. Age-wise we didn't have much of a difference either, considering she was a senior and I was only a junior. She earned a half smile from me. "Thank you." I pulled her in for a quick hug before smiling once more, though only a cover-up. _Great. So someone knew. Great._

"How was the show?" I set my black school bag on the kitchen counter and watched as my mother started making our dinner for the night. The room filled with the smell of the spaghetti sauce and beef she was starting to heat up.

"Great!" I smiled widely. I eyed the food the was currently making and made my way over into the kitchen, finding some uncooked noodles from the cabinet and set them out for her. "Is it okay if I go out tonight? There's the-"

"Dance." She finished my sentence and turned to me, a smile on her face. "Are you taking someone?"

I nodded once, not really wanting to go through this conversation. She stood there staring at me, waiting for me to tell her who it was, I assumed. "Well, Go on." Her smile grew wider.

I simply shrugged once. "A friend." I went to go take a seat on the kitchen counter, by the stove where she was at.

She raised a brow. "Do I know this friend?" I nodded in response and when I thought her smile couldn't get any wider, it did. "Who?"

I let out a small sigh. "Stephanie."

Her brow rose slightly once at me before taking the bag of noodles and placing them in a bowl of boiling water over the stove. She admired her work for a second and checked to see if there was anything else to do before turning towards me fully. "The bigger one?" _Bigger? What the hell was that supposed to mean?_ I gave her a slightly confused look before realizing she was talking about her weight.

"I guess…" I mumbled, giving off a half-hearted smile.

"I didn't know you and her had a thing going-"

"-we don't!" I interrupted her, slightly gasping that it came out of my mouth. "Er..I mean, we're good friends, but she's…" Once again, I went with my usual excuse. "Not my type." I looked at her for a second seeing a hint of being let down in her eyes before mine quickly found their way to the ground.

I wasn't sure how much time passed by before I felt a hand on my knee, making me jump at the sudden touch. My eyes were met with my mothers. "Adam" was all she said. I felt my lip quiver as it had earlier, not sure what was happening. "Adam, what _is_ exactly your type?" I felt my stomach curl. _What? Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Not this. I'm not ready for this. She can't know, she just can't. Not two people in one day._ "Don't take it the wrong way, sweetie… I just want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours…" Her hand moved on my knee that made me tense up. Even if I tried, I couldn't find it in myself to look at her. _You wanna know what's going on in my head? Penis. Penis is going on in my head_. Despite how serious of a conversation this is, I had to try to fight off a smirk at my own thought.

She seemed to feel how tense I was becoming and let me go, turning toward the stove again, pulling out a spoon and beginning to stir the under-cooked noodles. "Nevermind, honey. Have fun at the dance." She turned her head to face me for a second, flashing me a forced smile, but I was already out of the room.

"Can you believe her? She was all up on him! God, can you believe _him_? I swear you could almost see his cock-" Stephanie threw her arms around me before she could finish her sentence. "Adam!" I let out a loud laugh, wrapping my arms around the smaller girl.

"Hey, Steph!"

"Where the hell have you _been_ all day?! Nevermind that! Oh, Adam, last night was so amazing!" Her arms tightened around me. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Anything for my Tracy!" I smiled widely and let her go, slightly hoping she would do the same. People were staring. I looked across from us to find two of her friends that I had met last night at the dance. A pale redhead, Leslie, and a short lavender haired one who was waving me over to sit by her, Kaitlin.

"Wait, who's cock are we talking about?" I heard the redhead say, past Stephanie's giggles as she let go. Suddenly interested in the conversation, I took my seat by Kaitlin was I was told to do. The lavender-haired-wonder stood up from her seat with her hand held high.

"Mine! My cock! My cock was throbbing!"

With an elbow rested on the table, I quickly covered up my mouth to suppress the laugh that was coming up from the stares and laughter that was aimed towards her from countless people around that had heard her. She immediately took her seat with a blank look.

"_Fuck_, I'm not here."

"Oh, _come on_. I'll take care of your throbbing cock for you." I joked, regretting it the second I said it. Her eyes slightly widened.

"Bitch, please. That cock is mine." Leslie budded in jokingly. Hell, why didn't I ever talk to these two before?

"Woah, there." She smirked lightly. "I didn't know you rolled that way-"

"I don't!" I interrupted the girl, not meaning to. _Shit_, I was getting so defensive.

Her eyes rolled, not giving it too much attention. "Chill, I wouldn't care if you were or weren't."

I looked at the girl, unsure what to say. To hell with that. Yeah, she would. Everyone would. God, can't I have just one day without this coming up?

The red-haired girl across from my eyed me wearily. Shit, _what_? Giving me a sympathetic look, she decided to just drop it and go back into the conversation about Kaitlin's throbbing cock.

_Oh, slow it a down_

No…

_Hey, slow it down_

I stared idly at the board across the room, not paying much attention to what was happening around me. A bunch of preps gossiping in the front of the room, jocks and athletes planning some party, nerds in the opposite corner, mouths gaping at the preps…Nothing out of the usual. Nothing out of the usual until the teacher had walked back in..

"Students, this is Thomas Ratliff. He's a new student here. I assume you will treat him with your upmost respect."

Brown hair fell around the elfish boy's pale white skin, covering up one of his delicious-looking brown eyes. A dark red pair of worn-down skinny jeans hugged to his legs and there was a hint of a grey shirt shown underneath his black jacket. _Thomas_, with crossed arms, dug his nails into his skin, giving Mrs. I-Don't-Even-Care-Enough-To-Know-This-Fuckass'-Name hidden glare as she walked towards her seat as the boy just stood there in the middle of the room a bit awkwardly. He cleared his throat as if he were waiting for something, which seemed to grab Mrs. Fuckass' attention. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Ratliff." I could see her scan the room in the corner of my eye, unable to take them off of Thomas Ratliff. "Take a seat by Mr. Lambert. Adam, raise your hand, please." _Wait- Mr. Lambert- Adam- What- _

"I, um.." What was I even going to say? I half-way raised my hand before the brunette was making his way towards me._ Shit, shit, shit._ I couldn't take my eyes off of him. _He thinks I'm a freak for staring, what's wrong with me, shit, shit, shit._

He walked past me, sitting on my right. Fuck, _fuck_.

I try to keep my eyes on my desk as I notice him looking me over. I tapped my foot quietly as a nervous habit. Oh _god_.

I turned my attention to the sheet below me, that hardly had even a verse I had begun to write on it, picking up my pen and began to write again what came into my head as I noticed Thomas look back at me.

_What do you want from me?_

_Yeah, I'm a freak._

_So what do you want from me?_


	2. The First Day

**-Hello, lovelies. ^.^ Sorry the last chapter was a wee bit boring. This one is too, kind of, but it's just a little starter. I have a loooot of ideas. And as much as I hate to be one of those people- not that I am going to be, but reviews **_**do**_** kind of help . Well, not kind of. They help a **_**lot**_**. I'm not demanding them..but…yeah. XD**

**Also, yes, there is a shitload of cussing in this. Ignore my pottymouth. If you don't like it, then I hope you get nose-fucked dry by a black monster cock.**

**Also, I realized that I didn't put this in the first chapter- **

**I DO NOT OWN THE BOYS. THOUGH IF I DID, VERY BAD THINGS WOULD HAPPEN. Slavery is looked down upon, isn't it? Thought so. You're all lucky.**

**I only own….everyone else, basically. Ehehe. Anyhoe, I'll shut up and let you read.**

**...**

**...**

**...**

**Also, i have a slight case of ADD/ADHD. SO GOD DAMN PARDON ME IF I'M AKSJDF**

**okaynowbacktothestory-**

* * *

I let out a slow whine, slipping on a random pair of jeans and a t-shirt, followed by my black jacket that I left unzipped. Today was going to be my first day at some new shittyass school. Supposedly it's one of the best in California. I beg to differ. _Just two more years, Tommy. Two more. _

I gazed up at the mirror in front of me. Godmotherfuckingdammit. I groaned loudly in frustration, realizing I hadn't yet taken a shower. I let out yet another whine, stripping out of my clothes and making sure the door was locked before taking a quick shower.

"THOMAS JOSEPH RATLIFF!" _Fuck_.

"Yes ma'am!" I quickly finished brushing my still-wet hair before opening the door, my eyes meeting the equally brown eyes that were in rage.

"Thomas, get your things! I don't want you fucking up your first day!" My mother spat at me, causing me to take a step back.

"Yes ma'am" was all I said in response. As she left the hallway, I stepped back into the bathroom to brush my hair once more, still disgusted with my appearance- then again, when have I not been?

I dug my fingers into my arm, my head spinning in three directions.

One: the shitty 'Spring Musical' music that started to play some unfamiliar tune. _Fuck_, I know it's a musical, but can they at least have a good one like Sweeny Todd?

Two: this councilor woman smells like an old lady.

Three: Fuck, people are staring at me. Yes, I'm new here. No, I don't want to talk to you. No, I will not be your friend. Go the fuck away; I don't like any of you. I will hire the United States Army's best sniper to kill all of you when you least expect it. I will personally get my close friend, Satan, to burn each of you in the deepest pit of hell for eternity and beyond.

"Freshmen,"

"'_Cause the world keeps spinning around and round-"_

_Shut._

"Sophomores,"

"_And my heart's keeping time to the speed of sound-"_

_The._

"Juniors,"

"_I was lost 'til I heard the drums, and I found my way"_

_Fuck._

"And seniors.."

"_You can't stop the beat!"_

_Up._

Mrs. McDonner, the school councilor for juniors pointed in different directions, indicating on where each group of students were. "Go ahead and take a seat here, Mr. Ratliff" She patted the seat next to her that was on the edge of one row, next to some lavender-haired girl. I merely nodded in response and did as I was told, ignoring the strange look the lavender girl have me. "If you need anything else, there are maps around the school to find me. Room S394." With that, she left the auditorium, leaving me with the two lingering problems I still had roaming in my head.

"_You can't stop the beat!" _My eyes idly floated to the stage in front of all of us, finding the cast of Hairspray: The Musical finishing the last of their songs.

"Oh, Link!" A bigger-looking brunette wrapped her arms around the taller black-haired male.

"Tracy.." He murmured back to her, pressing his lips to hers. I let out a small groan and wrapped my arms around myself, letting my eyes wander the room. I could easily separate the stereotypical groups. Preps in the front, all huddled together, mixing with the jocks and athletes. Outcasts that had disabilities in the back, thespians were obviously doing the play right now, and I'm sure a few hipsters lingered with them. The shady group of druggies were next to the group I was in, in my last school. The "Goths" or "Emos". God, I hated being so stereotypical. I hate admitting that they're real, but we all go by them. We're all a part of something, whether it's nerds, preps, outcasts, scene kids, thespians, or in my case, emos or goths.

Still, there were groups I didn't recognize. With the odd hair, I'm assuming they're either hipsters, scene, or just have good taste in hair.

"FUCK YES!" The lavender-haired girl that sat to my left jumped up, followed by countless students, but in a different grade. "Shit!" She sat back down when the girl to her left pulled her down.

"Chill your tits! It wasn't _that_ bad. I mean, it'd be better if they'd chosen _me_ to be Tracy, but whate-"

"Can I see your schedule?" The lavender haired _thing_ turned to me, her curled hair bouncing the slightest bit as they fell onto her shoulders.

I felt my cheeks go warm, not expecting anyone to actually speak to me. Oddly enough, I reached in my pocket and handed her the folded paper. She eagerly opened it and read it with her tomato-haired friend reading over her shoulder.

"First period, Gymnastics…eh"

"OH, you share the gym with me! I'm in color guard." The tomato girl smiled over at me, though having no affect on me.

"Second, Biology, Mr. Harmon- good luck with him. He's a pain in the ass." She glanced at me before continuing reading. "Third, Jazz Band-"

"Jazz? What do you play?" Tomato-head interrupted again. Fuck, at this rate, we're getting nowhere.

If it were up to me, I wouldn't be in some _jazz_ band for a stupid school. I already auditioned before I came here, on the weekend during registration. "Guitar." The lead guitarist had to quit band anyways for some reason. _Lucky me._

Tomato-head smiled widely at me, in a way that made me feel she'd probably molest me at any given second.

"Fifth" she must've already read the off my fourth period, though I didn't really care much. "Algebra 3, Mrs. Griffis. Sixth, History 3, Mrs. Felton. Aaanndd seventh" By now we were in the hallway. I hardly realized we'd even got up and began walking out of the auditorium. "English 3, Mr. Miller- God damn, we have nothing." She handed the sheet back to me, pouting slightly. Why did she even care? Hell, fuck it.

"FUCK." The lavender-thing shouted, tightening her grip around her purse and binder. "I'm going to be late, my class is all the way across the school. _FUCK_, bye!" She ran off out of sight, being sucked in by the crowed of students.

I blinked once and looked over at Tomato-head who was facepalming at her friend, forgetting for a second that I was still here. "Oh, sorry. I'm Leslie. That freak of nature was what we like to call a 'Kaitlin'."

"Tommy." I introduced myself quietly, figuring I might as well stay with her until she ran off and I'd eventually give in to boredom and try to find my class.

She looked around the halls once, making sure we weren't in anyone's way before turning back to me, red bangs slightly covering her left eye. "We have fifth period next. Who do you have again?" She stepped by my side before I could speak, looking over my shoulder at schedule. "Oh right. Griffis." She looked down at me (Yes, she's fucking taller than me. I really need to consider buying some fucking creepers. Damn this fucking shortness.) and began walking, for some reason I followed, trusting the girl.

"So you play guitar?" Play was an understatement. I'm a _god_ at guitar, if I say so myself. "I'm in jazz band too. The singer." I looked up to see a slight smirk on her face. _Way to be modest._ Then again, I'm not one to speak.

"Hell yes." I flashed a slight grin, though it was quickly replaced to the way my lips naturally fell, not having hardly any emotion in it.

"Oh, _you're_ replacing Andrew- fuck yes, someone who I think I'd actually get along with! Andrew was such a fuckass, anyways." Fuck, do most girls talk this much? Well, no, I've heard some side conversations while people had passed by earlier. This was nothing compared to most girls here.

Finally, we stopped in front of room S666. Fucking _hell_- literally, the room number…_awesome_. I felt a small smirk placed on my lips.

Leslie knocked on the door once, taking a step back just a second before a ratty looking middle-aged woman came out of the room and shut the door behind her. "Thomas Ratliff? I was beginning to wonder where my new student was. Come, come. Thank you, Miss…"

"Rathbone, Mrs. Griffis. Leslie Rathbone."

"Right then. Thank you, Miss Rathbone. You may be on your way."

Rathbone. Huh. I guess it fit her in a way- appearance wise.

"Stay here after class is over, okay? My class is just down the hall. I'll show you to your next class. History, right?" The redhead looked over her shoulder as Mrs. WhatTheHellWasHerNameAgain? entered the room. I nodded once and followed behind the woman.

"Students, this is Thomas Ratliff. He's a new student here. I assume you will treat him with your upmost respect."_ Respect, my ass. I was almost tripped in the hallway like, five times._

Mrs. Griffis walked off, leaving me there in the middle of the room, still being stared at by everyone in the classroom. I could feel my face become warm as I grew anxious, unsure of what to do. I cleared my throat, hoping to get her attention to give me some sort of directions on what to do. Lucky, it had worked.

She apologized and scanned the room, eyes suddenly stopping on- hey, isn't that the guy in the musical? Eh, oh well.

"Take a seat by Mr. Lambert. Adam, raise your hand, please."

The raved haired guy raised his hand shakily after mumbling something I couldn't understand…Alright then…

As I made my way over, I couldn't help but to feel his eyes on me, even as I took my seat next to him. Finally, when he did take his off of me, I took the chance to get a good look at him too. He was no longer wearing the ridiculous looking costume from earlier, it was replaced with black skinny jeans and a black and white Bowie shirt… at least he had a good taste in music.

My eyes skimmed across his features, taking in all of those freckles, full lips, perfectly shaped nose, electric blue eyes and long red eyelashes… I had to admit, for some sort of staring creep, he was actually pretty attractive. And yes; I find some guys attractive. No, I am not gay. Yes, I've considered myself straight for basically my whole life, but I'm extremely open minded, unlike most people. I honestly don't get what the fuss is if someone likes a certain gender…whatever.

He began to tap his foot, suddenly finding interest to the sheet of paper he began writing on, on his desk. Either he was extremely nervous for some odd reason, or his leg was having a seizure. I'll go with the leg seizure.

* * *

A few days passed since my first day, which, I admit, wasn't that bad. _Yet_. I tried my hardest not to speak with anyone, though I failed miserably when the oh-so-talkative lavender and redhead came around. Speak of the devil-

"Tommy!" Leslie waved over at me to go sit with them at their lunch table; '_their_' as in Kaitlin, her, some girl I don't know, and the leg-seizure guy, Adam.

I let out a small whine, enjoying being alone, but I knew I'd probably give in and go to them unwillingly. She seemed to notice this and let out a small sigh, going back into conversation that was followed by all of them laughing about something inaudible to me. She kept shooting my countless looks, knowing I was watching the four of them.

I let my eyes wander the half-empty cafeteria, after a minute, bringing my eyes lazily back to the table of four, which had turned into a table of three.

"Tommy…" I jumped, hearing the familiar voice right next to me. "Come on, sit with us." Leslie's hazel eyes pleaded, making me slightly uncomfortable. Then again, I was always uncomfortable in some strange way around her- around anyone, really. I always got this feeling like she was going to rape or molest me for some reason, as stupid as it sounds.

"I…" I tried to think of some reasonable answer for not sitting with them. "I like being alone.." I gnawed on my bottom lip.

"Tommy…" She whined. My eyes drifted off to her, suddenly finding the table pretty interesting looking.

There was a minute of silence, pure awkwardness on my behalf, and I'm sure for her too. I could feel her eyes glued to me in a way that made me queasy.

"You might wanna cover those up…" I felt my heart stop, my breathing stop, my whole head stop, everything; stopped. _Fuck_.

Slowly I met her eyes, which were drawn to my forearm. _Shit, no, no, no._


	3. Unexpected

**Alright, so, i just wanted to say how sorry i am for being an ass and not writing for so long. Highschool has been a fuckass to me and i've been under a lot of stress. You see, the "Leslie" Character, i admit fully to it, it actually me. I didn't even bother to changer my name or anything. I figured this would explain why i've been gone. Or at least in the last few paragraphs. "Damien Hale" is not the real name, however, (You'll see once you read). Figured tha'd be too much. Oh well, not making this a sob story about me, i'm just yeah you get it. Just explaining why i haven't been on. That and i haven't really wanted to much because i'm a terrible writer. Pfft oh well, you're reading it, not me.**

**I've changed Tommy up a bit. He doesn't cuss as much (Thank the fucking lord. He was like Madea in the past chapters), but other then that, i can't think of anything else in the moment that's changed. Other then being a weeeee bit nicer xD**

**And the last thing 'Leslie' says in this chapter, i really mean it for all of you. If you ever, EVER, need to talk about anything, i'm here. I know i'm hardly on the account, but i'll try to be more consistent and such. You can always message me on my tumblr, vanity-over-sanity.**

**I love you all, thank you for putting up with me and my lack of updating! 3**

* * *

"I'm really not one to judge, trust me." She looked up at me for a second before rolling up her left sleeve. I was confused for a second, but when I realized what she was doing, I couldn't believe my eyes. Thirteen deep, red, shining scars glistened under the cafeteria's lights. Several ones not as deep underneath the thirteen. She moved her arm around and I guess I never noticed- well, never cared much to look. Who the hell goes around staring at people's arms? Okay, fine. I look sometimes. Just to see if they had scars or cuts so I would know I'm not alone. Cheesy, maybe, but whatever.

She had three 'x's on the front of her arm on the right side, a few inches from where her arm and hand connect. The top one was the biggest, and below it were two smaller ones. She had a oval-shaped, almost, thick line on the top of her hand positioned between her thumb and pointer finger. Various ones down her arm, and she had told me she had ones on her upper arm too, all around it. Not as much and not as easy to see. On her right hand there was one thin cut going down the middle of the top of her hand. The told me she had extremely deep ones going down both of her legs from years ago and a huge patch of white and red lines on her right thigh. She told me she had the initials of someone she used to love deeply that are still there from freshman year. Actually, all of them were from freshman year and the year before that.

I asked her if the 'x's meant something, because for some reason, I was just curious. She proceeded to tell me about two of her friends that she had lost because she was in recovery (one of many 'recoveries' that she had failed) and the largest 'x' was once again for the person she 'deeply loved'. I noticed how her eyes would always shine in a way when she mentioned this person in a weird way that I can't explain in words. So I asked her about it. I knew I probably shouldn't have, but I'm pretty much the curiousass cat that got itself killed.

"His name is Damien. Damien Hale. Brown eyes, kind of like yours, beautiful full lips, long black, straight, hair. Tall and extremely thin. He smokes. Obsessed with Marilyn Manson." She trailed off.

Leslie looked around, finding the table pretty interesting. Hey, I'm not the only one that does that. She sniffed once like she was about to cry or something. I felt something inside of me sink.

"It's kind of a long story."

I shook my head tried to urge her to go on. I was actually pretty curious now. I know I shouldn't make her, but I was so god damn curious as to what was so great about this guy that she would hurt herself for.

I watched as she drew in a deep breath and looked at me for a quick second before looking down and letting out a nervous laugh. "I'm always kind of ashamed to admit all of this. Sorry." I gave her a friendly smile and tried urging her more.

"We met in the seventh grade. I started cutting in sixth grade and I never knew anyone else that did it. My depression I've had my whole life didn't start fully taking itself on me until then. In seventh it worsened by far. I never told anyone that I've never cut. I've never told anyone that I've-er..tried to kill myself. I've been trying to my whole life. Literally. I've always been suicidal. I've always hurt myself in a way when I was a kid, whether it was pinching or scratching. I don't know how I learned it, but I did. I didn't know what I was doing then.

Anyways, I felt more alone then ever. Like no one understood me, no one knew, no one cared, I was just…alone. Until he saw my cuts. It was by accident, but he saw them. He looked at me and called my name. He pulled down his jacket sleeve and showed me his wrist. His cuts weren't deep, but there were a lot of them. Thin, red scratches all over his arm. I wanted to cry. I swear I would've actually committed suicide if it weren't for him coming in to my life.

We became friends after that. Extremely good friends. I told him everything and he told me everything about him. I used to be like a saint in school, I never got in trouble, and afterwards, the teacher hated me so much. It was so amazing though. I'd never been happier. That's when my crush on him started.

We were somewhat friends in eighth grade. It killed me. Every part of it. Every time I saw him with another person, another girl, smiling, laughing. All of it killed me because that couldn't be me with him. We still talked, but only when no one was around. I felt like he was ashamed of me, but I didn't blame him for it. Half way through the year he started ignoring me. Like, flat-out ignoring me. I would call his name, be right beside him and try to talk to him, hug him from behind like we used to do, and nothing. No response. Like I wasn't even there. I started blaming myself for all of it. I became bulimic, I starved myself. I cut even deeper to where they needed stitches. I started smoking because I knew he smoked and I thought it would make me good enough. That's when I realized it wasn't a crush. I loved him. I loved him so much that I was doing all of that to myself.

It continued out until one of the last days of school and I got sick of all of it. I was going to tell him. Not about my crush or anything like that, but everything else. That morning when he came into class he was in tears though. Literally crying. I noticed all new cuts. I got up from my seat hugged him. I didn't care who saw or was watching, I didn't care if he hated me for it. I needed to do it. He hugged me back though and I asked the teacher if we could go in the hall and talk. When we were alone, he said he was sorry for acting like such an ass and that he's noticed my cuts too. He's noticed how much deeper they had gotten when I wore skirts and shit like that. He noticed how much weight I'd been losing. He'd notice how I wasn't wearing makeup anymore- FWI, if I'm not wearing any makeup at all, something is wrong with me. Just for future reference.

Anyways, he told me he loved me and that he felt horrible about how he treated me. I told him about me being bulimic and the smoking and suicidal attempts. Oh, that was also the year I started overdosing on my antidepressants. So he said he didn't know why he took it all out on me, but his dad started hitting him again. Hardcore hitting. His mom's always been a bitch- his step mom, I mean. His biological mom molested him as a kid and left his family for drugs. We ended up skipping the day rest of the day and went to my house.

When freshman year started, he was ignoring me again because he was with a whole new group of friends. The same group he still hangs out with, actually. That's pretty much it, now. We hardly ever talk anymore. But it's been so long since and I still can't get rid of my feelings for him."

She finished her story with a long sigh and wiped away the few tears that had escaped. I honestly was not expecting that. I'm not sure what I was expecting though.

"He goes to this school, still?"

She nodded once.

"Mind if I kick his ass?"

She nodded again.

I let everything sink in for a minute, going through her story in my head again. She must've really loved him if she did all of that. That or just be plain stupid. To love someone so much that you'd do anything for them. Literally, anything. Anything about yourself, trying to change for them. Just..I don't know. Something about that really pissed me off though, but I kept it to myself. It's probably best.

I set my hands on the table and noticed how it was shaking frantically. Looks like she's a leg seizure kind of person too. Something told me she had more to say about something.

"What is it?" I asked, knowing she'd understand what I'm talking about. I hesitated at first, but a placed my hand on her knee, hoping she would relax. She seemed to, or at least a little bit.

"Freshman year I overdosed worse than I ever had before. I was sent to the Emergency Room and stayed there overnight. Afterwards I went to Keiskine Mental Hospital for a week or so. I was diagnosed with Severe Depression, Severe Anxiety, ADD, and Mood Disorder." What did that have to do with anything? I mean, damn, but what?

She looked at me for a second, just looking, not saying anything. I was starting to feel uncomfortable again.

"Tommy, I know I haven't know you for that long, and I just practically told you half of my life's story. I want you to come to me- if you want- if there's anything wrong with you. I don't know why, but I trust you. There's something different about you. I don't want you to end up like me then and hold everything in until it all becomes too much and you're stuck in a crazy house and have so see a shrink for years on. Please don't und up like that."

I heard the bell ring and the three at the other table calling for us, but we just sat there. Eventually the three gave up and went to class. It took me a few minutes to decide whether or not to tell her about my mom or not.

Within the next ten minutes we were both outside with me almost sobbing hysterically. I've never told anyone how much my parents affect me. I've only just met her, and as she said about me, I actually feel I can trust her. That's a pretty goddamn big thing for me too.

* * *

**Don't worry, babes, Adommy will happen sooooon XD I can't live without my OTP's...Well, one of them. Saulbert, Adommy, Hunseph, and my brOTP, Thorki c:**

**I'm rambling again.**

**Oops.**

**Anyhoe, I really mean it guys. PM me or something if you ever want to talk. I'm always here.**


	4. Breathe Me

Sorry it took so long. I'm working on trying to write/upload quicker, guys.

* * *

A woman in her mid-forties is left unknown to anyone inside a running bathtub in her new home. Her unkept light brown hair is chopped untidily into various lengths and clumps of hair are scattered across the floor, her pale skin gently smoothed out into a calm and peaceful expression with her eyes closed. Her chapped lips are slightly parted exposing her perfect but yellow-tinted teeth. She looked as if she were in a blissful sleep, except the thing is, she wasn't.

She had been unconscious for merely minutes, and it wouldn't be hours until anyone found the limp body in the flooded bathroom on 2938 Gilles Drive. Her son was still in school and her ex-husband worked downtown. Her ex-husband's name was Ron. They divorced a few years ago after years of dealing with her own problems. Ron finally gave up on the woman, divorced her, leaving her with the teenager. Money was a big issue for the new family of two. The teenager, Thomas, worked two jobs and nearly had to quit school because of it. The mother didn't work. She stayed on the couch and watched what was ever on television and would be most likely be drinking some form of alcohol.

This woman, you see, she does have problems. Problems that could've been fixed, but instead she let them get the best of her. Her orange prescription drug containers are empty on the rim of the sink. Clozaril, Mood Stabilizers, and Lexapro, the three medications she was supposed to take every day, but never did. "It's hopeless," she used to say, "nothing can fix me. You can't fix what was born broken. It's a fact of life."

The woman, born on December 17, 1954, spent the most of her childhood as a long-term patient in the adolescent center at Keiskine Mental Hospital. Her name was Carolyn Ryman. She always had bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, usually staying up all night after hours of sleep from being sedated. Her lack of sleep effected her abilities to cooperate, not to mention the medications at the time and the side-effects. They had just recently started actually treating the patients then, not just send them away from home and the scientists had only started research on her mental illnesses ten years prior, so they hadn't known what to expect from their patients or from the medications.

Her parents had a numerous amount of money from their hardworking father, so that allowed to keep Carolyn there. At the age of 18, being a legal adult, she signed herself out of Keiskine and and went off into the real world. She had spent one single day on the streets of Los Angeles until she met a young soldier, Ronald Ratliff. Being the kind man he was, he took the woman home as a temporary shelter, though a year or so later, Ron had fallen for the woman and had asked Carolyn to be his wife. Carolyn had finally gotten the longed for happiness she had only dreamed about, with a husband, a house, and a baby girl, Lisa, she had thought (well, they had all thought), on the way. As a side-effect to her Schizophrenia medication, Carolyn had a miscarriage.

She had to cope for years after the family's loss of the baby girl, but finally she and Ron decided to try again. Almost a year later, little Thomas Joseph was born. A quiet, strangle little boy, always curious and getting himself into trouble in the simplest of ways. Still, Carolyn had always wanted to have a girl and after many discussions with Ron, two years later, Carolyn was pregnant once again, but once again due to her medication, she had yet another miscarriage. Needless to say, she was heartbroken.

She stopped taking her medication. All of it. Her Bipolar II, Schizophrenia, and Depression medication.

_Serves you right, fucker. You deserve this you little cunt. What the fuck is wrong with you, monster, you deserve this. Don't try to deny it, cunt, don't. You wanted this. You wanted this to happen. Your little girls didn't even want to come out to see you. Both of them! How pathetic is that! They're too afraid off you, monster! They'd rather fucking die than be with you. Fucking cunt. Die! Die! Die, cunt, die! Just stop fucking breathing, bitch. You don't deserve to breath, fucking shitfaced monster!_

She lie on the floor, the scent of alcohol filling the bedroom. Wine had been spilled on the off-white carpet, (Wine, or, was that blood..?), and the ceiling fan was off so the alcoholic aroma filled the room. Her cigarette lay on the floor next to her in the ashtray. Her dilated eyes glazed with an odd shine, rimmed with red. She open her cracked lips at once, parting them and slowly putting the cigarette bud between them, taking a long, slow drag. Just another one of those nights, right?

On a warm, quiet night in July, Ron came home after his new job as a carpenter. He hesitated to walk in the door, horror-struck He slowly began to walk into the house. Empty, broken bottles of their finest alcoholic beverages were found in the den and kitchen. He slowly walks down the hallway, half terrified to call out the woman he married's name. His eyes shot open more than it already had been as he stared at the sight. A handgun lay on the cold, wet floor aside broken pieces of a beer bottle and drops of red. Specks of what he only assumed was blood or red wine was scattered on the outside of the closet door, right above the scene. Ron felt his heart sink. He dared to open the door, taking one step back with a loud gasp heard throughout the household. Tears threatened to come down the man's face as he stared down at his son, his own flesh and blood, lying unconscious inside of the closet with his right arm and leg bent slightly in an unnatural way..

_Just do it._

_Do it god damn it._

_Teach the kid a lesson._

_Teach the fucking brat._

_That's right… Harder!_

_Serve's the fucker right! Don't cry, filthy cunt, look at what you had just done! Hide it! Hide him! Hide him and rot in hell! That's right you monster, leave! Hide yourself, piece of shit! This is why Lisa and Cathryn didn't want you! Look at what you've done! Look at what you've done! Look at you now! Hahahahaha! That's right, pathetic mewling quim! You're going to rot in hell for sure, this time!_

No one knew what exactly happened on that night besides eight-year-old Thomas, but he spoke to no one. Not to his father, the news reporters, several interviewers, the doctors, hell, not even the countless therapists, and psychiatrists. He'd tell some of the truth, because over the years he had eventually forced himself to forget the worst parts like the broken arm and leg or when his mother almost shot him, but he did tell some of the truth, though not openly. Then again, who would?

Carolyn was sent back to Keiskine the night after the incident, who claimed to remember nothing of it. She was released when her son was at the age of fifteen, and given how well she had seemed on her new medication, she was allowed to see Thomas and Ron once again. She was given the rights to have her child back. Ron and Carolyn divorced shortly after, and Ron was again fighting for his country but retired only a year later. Thomas stayed with his mother most of the time, except for when Ron was in town.

Carolyn was better, that was no lie. Some days she had forgotten to take her medication and she beat her son if he had done something she thought was wrong at the time, but she always made up for it, or at least, tried to. Carolyn really did care for her child, but she had no idea how to take care of a teenage boy. His father had mostly done all of the work, and now he was so busy with his retirement job.

Carolyn was alone. She didn't understand this child. The child that had been hurting himself, inherited her Depression, who had at times shared the same thoughts as her. She had thought to have been a terrible mother and she thought she deserved all pain that came to her. She stopped taking her medication because of it. Not because of the voices telling her to, but because she knew it was true. She deserved every bit of hell given to her.

She didn't think of how much when she was off the medication, she hurt her son by doing so.

He was such a good child, for what he had been through. After the incident, he had straightened up his act. His was quiet again, much like his toddler years, but more well-behaved and intelligent. He kept his personal life to himself and remained a very private person so he never brought any of the drama he carried with him to the house. As he grew older, past the age of eight, he realized how many things were wrong with this world and with his own life. He blamed himself for the situation._ "After all, that's what Mother said, isn't it? She had every right to do it. I was a rambunctious kid. I was a trouble maker. I would hassle her and annoy her for the hell of it. I know, I know, I was eight, its normal behavior, but it was different. Why? Because it's me. I'm different. I deserved it. It was all my fault."_ Deep inside, young Thomas (well, "Tommy", he preferred to be called. "Tommy Joe") knew how pathetic his thoughts were and he knew it wasn't his fault. He would never admit it to anyone or even himself that, really, it was all because of his mother. _"I mean, she can't help what's going on in her head. It's how she was born! She didn't decide to be that way! She did nothing wrong!"_ He'd always defend her against the therapists. _"Tommy Joe, I understand. But she's had this problem before. Who decided not to take the medication she was supposed to take? Her. Who decided to reside to alcohol? Her. It's not your fault, Tommy, you have to stop blaming yourself."_

_'She had been unconscious for merely minutes, and it wouldn't be hours until anyone found the limp body in the flooded bathroom on 2938 Gilles Drive. Her son was still in school and her ex-husband worked downtown…'_

* * *

BAM! Done. I promise Adommy will happen soon, okay? It'll happen, believe me. I'm the author, I know this shit.

So, the schitzo voices...those are scary as shit. I wouldn't be able to do it. I almost started crying half way through an audio recording representation-thing of it. If you wanna listen, go to youtube and search "Auditory Hallucinations - An Audio Representation". The user should be hellojarrad.

Hope you don't hate me too much?


End file.
